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"The city comptroller? Possible, but he's not exactly known for his charisma. Doesn't seem like the type to lure women to their deaths." She paused. "What about Todd Blackwell?"
"He moved to Arizona last year. Remember the going-away party?"
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way. He could be a former politician, or maybe someone who ran but didn't win. That could be part of their motive for—"
"Wait a minute," Finn said suddenly, sitting up straighter. He squinted at the screen. "Thomas Blake. How did we not think of him sooner?"
"The city councilman? What's so interesting about him?"
"Remember that campaign of his on the radio? The one about marriage?"
Sheila nodded slowly, her eyes glazing over with memory. "Vaguely."
"He's been pushing hard for stricter laws against adultery. Says it's 'destroying the fabric of our society.'"
Sheila leaned in, her excitement growing. "That fits. Both Laura and Sophie were involved in infidelity. What if Blake is targeting women he sees as threats to traditional marriage?"
"And that's not all. Guess where he regularly attends church?"
"St. Michael's?"
"St. Michael's."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The digital clock on the dashboard glowed 3:17 AM, its green numbers a stark contrast to the darkness enveloping Thomas Blake's property. Sheila shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position in the confines of their unmarked police vehicle. Her eyes never left the sprawling Tudor-style house across the street, its windows dark and silent.
Finn sat beside her, his breathing steady and rhythmic. He was awake, she knew, but lost in his own thoughts. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken words and shared tension.
Sheila's mind wandered, as it often did during these long, quiet hours of surveillance. But her thoughts weren't on Thomas Blake. Instead, they kept circling back to Sophie Tournay's body, sprawled in that dirty alley like a broken doll.
The image was burned into her memory: Sophie's blonde hair matted with blood, her blue eyes staring sightlessly at the night sky. It was a sight that would haunt Sheila for a long time to come. But what troubled her even more was how vividly it had reminded her of another body, another tragic discovery.
Natalie.
She had felt the same way at the sight of Laura Hastings' body, but she'd managed to keep herself focused. Now, however, with space and time for her mind to roam, she felt the tug of the not-so-distant past.
She tried closing her eyes, but it didn't help. If anything, the darkness behind her eyelids only made the memories more vivid. She could see it all again, as clearly as if it were happening right now: walking into Natalie's cabin, calling out her sister's name…
And then finding her on the floor, unmoving, an empty pill bottle on the floor.
Sheila's hands clenched involuntarily, her nails digging into her palms. The pain was a welcome distraction from the memories threatening to overwhelm her.
Damn, I could use a drink,she thought.
Just one, to take the edge off. To dull the sharp edges of grief and guilt that still cut into her months after Natalie's death.
You made a promise to Finn, just as he made a promise to you. Neither of you drinks, ever. If you break that promise…
"You want to talk about her?" Finn asked.
Sheila glanced at him, puzzled. "Who?"
"Your sister."
"Is it that obvious?"
"That you're thinking about her? I'm sure you think about her all the time. So do I. She was a good friend."
