Chapter 31
Jack and Mark pulled into the parking lot of Bogdin's Fitness Center. The midafternoon crowd had already cleared out, leaving just a handful of cars scattered across the lot. But it was the woman standing in the doorway who caught Jack's attention as they pulled up.
Cheryl Mason.
Jack and Mark got out of their vehicle and approached. Her eyes tracked them like a predator watching prey.
“Well, hello, Jack. Surprised to see you today, but it’s always a pleasure.” Cheryl smiled, her voice coy as she eyed him from head to toe.
Then the two deputy vehicles and the DTF dog unit pulled into the parking lot, and her expression turned wary.
“Ma'am, we have a warrant to search these premises,” Jack said, holding up the paperwork. “Please step aside.”
Her mouth dropped open as her eyes bugged. “Martin wouldn't allow this.” Cheryl's voice was shrill, panicked underneath the anger. “This is private property. You can't just—”
“We can, and we are,” Mark said calmly. “The warrant is legal and properly executed. You can call Mr. Bogdin if you'd like to verify, but we're coming in either way.”
Cheryl snatched the warrant from Jack's hand and scanned it, her eyes moving too fast to actually be reading. Then she shoved it back at him. “Fine. Search his office and the gym. But you're not going to find anything.”
She turned on her heel and headed back to the front desk, where she settled onto a stool. Her long nails tapped impatiently on the wooden counter as she glared with such intensity that Jack could practically feel the heat of it.
Mark and the DTF dog unit walked through the back rooms as Jack and two more deputies began a preliminary search of the gym's office.
It was small and cluttered, with papers stacked on the desk and in the filing cabinet.
There was a closet that looked like a pantry, with protein powder supplement containers lining the shelves.
He twisted the top off one of the supplement jars but was unable to identify the powdery substance inside.
Jack worked through the room methodically, photographing everything, checking drawers and cabinets. He didn’t find anything immediately obvious. No pills sitting out in the open, no smoking gun.
The DTF dog handlers came in with their German shepherds. The dogs were alert and focused, their handlers keeping them on short leashes. One entered the office as the other moved toward Cheryl.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, her voice rising. “You're harassing us. Martin is going to sue you for—”
One of the dogs pulled hard on its leash, nose down, heading straight for the front desk. Then the other dog followed, both animals suddenly laser-focused on the same spot.
Cheryl stood so fast her stool toppled over. “They're not allowed behind my desk. This is—”
The first dog sniffed Cheryl, then sat down directly in front of Cheryl's purse, which was partially shoved under the counter. The second dog moved to Cheryl herself, sniffed her clothes, then walked away.
Both handlers turned to Jack with identical expressions of confirmation. “Detective,” one of them said. “We have positive alerts. The purse and the subject.”
Cheryl's face went white, then flushed bright red. “I don't know what you think you're—” She bolted for the door.
Jack moved to intercept, but one of the uniformed deputies was faster. He caught Cheryl's arm and pulled her back, his voice calm and professional. “Ma'am, you need to stop. Right now.”
“Let go of me!” Cheryl tried to wrench free, but the deputy held firm.
“Search her,” Jack ordered.
Two female deputies came over immediately and escorted Cheryl into the women’s locker room for a pat-down search.
“You can't do this,” Cheryl was saying as the door to the locker room closed. Her voice was still heard. “I have rights. I want a lawyer. I—”
It only took thirty seconds for one of the deputies to stick her head out. “Detective? We've got something.”
Jack approached as the deputy carefully handed him a small plastic baggie containing round white pills with no identifying information.
“Well,” Mark said quietly. “That's interesting.”
The deputy who'd retrieved Cheryl's purse opened it carefully, dumping the contents onto the counter. Wallet, keys, makeup, tissues, and another baggie, this one with oval pale-yellow pills. The same ones Robbie had described.
Jack looked at Cheryl, whose face had gone from red to ashen. “Cheryl Mason, you're under arrest for possession of controlled substances with intent to distribute.”
“I want a lawyer,” Cheryl said immediately.
“That's your right,” Jack said. “But before we go any further, I need to ask you one question. Are there any other drugs in this gym? Anything that could be a danger to the people who work out here?”
Cheryl's mouth clamped shut, her eyes defiant.
Jack nodded to the handlers. “Continue to search the whole facility. Offices, locker rooms, storage areas. Everything.”
The dogs went to work while the female deputies cuffed Cheryl and read her her rights. She stood there with her jaw clenched, glaring at Jack like she could set him on fire with the force of her anger.
The dogs worked through the gym methodically but came up empty. No additional drugs in the office, the locker rooms, or the storage closets. Whatever operation Cheryl had been running, she'd been smart enough not to keep a large supply on-site.
Once the search was complete, one of the deputies escorted Cheryl out to a patrol car. Jack watched her go, then turned to Mark.
“Let's see if she'll talk,” Jack said.
They drove back to the station, where Cheryl was processed and placed in an interview room. Jack gave her time to stew, to think about the situation she was in, before he and Mark entered with a legal pad and a recording device.
“This interview is being recorded,” Jack said, flipping a switch on a recorder on the table and stating the date, time, and who was present. “Ms. Mason, you've been advised of your rights. Do you understand them?”
“Yes,” Cheryl said sullenly.
“You said you wanted a lawyer. Do you still want one, or are you willing to talk to us?”
Cheryl stared at the table for a long moment. Then she looked up, and something in her expression had shifted. Not quite defeated, but calculating. Like she was weighing her options and trying to figure out which path would hurt her the least.
“I'll talk,” she said finally. “But I want it on record that I'm cooperating.”
“Noted,” Mark said. “Let's start with the pills we found on you. Where did you get them?”
Cheryl's jaw tightened. “I'm nothing more than someone who passes along what comes to me.”
“Passes along to who?” Jack asked.
“I get them delivered to the fitness center.” Cheryl gestured vaguely, as though indicating the gym.
“I order vitamins and supplements, protein powder, and almost everything for the center. I got a call from someone who wanted to know if I’d like to make more money by passing along their special supplements. ”
“And you agreed? Not knowing what they were?” Jack asked.
“I didn’t care what they were. The money was a lot more than I’d ever make as a receptionist for a fitness center. What was one more kind of supplement?”
“How did you get them?”
“I have a phone number I call when I need more. A man comes in and drops them off. And before you ask… no, I don’t have a name,” she groused.
Mark moved to the door, telling one of the deputies to get the fitness center’s security videos. He walked back into the room, sitting back in his chair.
Jack shared a glance with Mark, then dipped his chin before turning back to Cheryl.
Swiping a hand over her hair, she continued without being prodded. “I hide them in one of the protein powder containers. Since I’m the one who handles the powder being made into smoothies, I can make sure no one gets them but me.”
“Then what were you told to do with them?” Mark inquired.
“I was told someone would come in and ask for the special supplements. Only one person ever came in for those, so I always gave them to him. What he does with them, I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Even if one of the teenagers who took them is now in the hospital?”
Cheryl’s face paled as the air rushed out. “No… I didn’t… you can’t pin this on me!”
Jack leaned forward. “Who were you passing these drugs to, Cheryl?”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “David.”
Jack felt something click into place. “David who?”
She grimaced. “David Peterson.”
Mark moved to the door again. Jack heard him tell one of the deputies to put out a search for David Peterson. “We need you to bring in David Peterson. He should be teaching at Baytown High School right now.”
While Mark dealt with orders to find David, Jack continued with Cheryl. “And you had them on your person because he was coming in today?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been supplying David with these drugs?”
“About six months.” Cheryl's voice was flat now, emotionless. “He approached me. Said he was there for the special supplements, and he’s the only one who ever asked for them.”
“And Martin Bogdin?” Mark asked. “What was his involvement?”
“Martin didn't know.” Cheryl's voice rose slightly, defensive. “He never knew. Martin thought David was just a gym customer and his son’s coach.”
“You’re very talkative now,” Mark observed.
“Because I'm not going down for this alone.” Cheryl's voice was bitter. “David's the one who wanted the drugs. David's the one who took them or distributed them. I was just the middleman.”
Just the middleman. As though that made her any less culpable. Jack stood. “Cheryl Mason, you're being charged with possession and distribution of controlled substances to minors. You'll be held pending arraignment.”
“I cooperated,” Cheryl said, her voice rising with panic. “That has to count for something.”
“It will be noted in your case file,” Jack said. “But you're still under arrest.”
He left the interview room and met Mark in the hall. Jack rubbed his hands over his face, exhaustion hitting him all at once.
Mark sighed. “We need to search David’s apartment.”
Soon, Jack stood outside David Peterson's apartment with Mark at his side and two uniformed deputies stationed at the exits. The search warrant felt heavy in Jack's hand, though it was just a few pieces of paper.
“Ready?” Mark asked, his hand resting on his service weapon out of habit more than expectation of trouble.
“Let's do it,” Jack said.
He knocked three times, hard and official. “Sheriff's department. We have a warrant.”
No answer. No sound of movement inside. Since David was still at work, Jack didn’t expect anyone, but protocols had to be followed.
Jack knocked again, louder this time. “David Peterson, this is the North Heron Sheriff's Office. We have a warrant to search these premises. Open the door.”
Still nothing.
Jack nodded to one of the deputies, who stepped forward with the battering ram. With one solid hit, the door swung open, the cheap lock easily giving way.
The apartment was small but well appointed.
A living room with a leather sofa and a large, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
Wooden coffee table with matching end tables and a bookcase filled with books.
His kitchen was clean, with dishes washed and placed in a dish rack.
The bedroom was visible through an open doorway.
Queen bed, neatly made, and even his closet held his clothes neatly hung.
“Clear the rooms,” Jack ordered.
The deputies moved through the apartment efficiently, checking closets and the bathroom, making sure David wasn't hiding somewhere. Within two minutes, they confirmed what Jack already suspected.
“No one here, Detective.”
Jack pulled on latex gloves and began the methodical work of searching. Mark took the bedroom while Jack started in the living room, working through drawers and cabinets with practiced efficiency.
It didn't take long to find something.
In the kitchen, tucked behind a box of cereal in the cabinet above the refrigerator, Jack found a small ziplock bag containing pills. He held it up to the light. Some were pale yellow and oval, while others were white and round, a different type but clearly pharmaceutical.
“Mark,” Jack called. “Got something.”
Mark emerged from the bedroom carrying a laptop. “Found this on his nightstand. No password protection. He’s got spreadsheets with names, so he’s either stupid or arrogant.”
“Both, probably,” Jack muttered, bagging the pills as evidence.
They continued searching. In the bathroom cabinet, Jack found more baggies, these ones empty but with powder residue inside. In the bedroom closet, Mark discovered a small cardboard box containing additional pills, all carefully separated by type.
“This is it,” Mark said, photographing everything before bagging it as evidence. “This is our direct link between David and the distribution.”
Jack's phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw a text from one of the deputies stationed at the school. Peterson's vehicle not in faculty lot.
Jack's stomach tightened as he relayed the text to Mark.
“He may be in the wind.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Once Terrance was ill, he probably knew his time was up.”
David Peterson was smart enough to run, connected enough to have access to resources, and desperate enough to do something stupid if he felt cornered. Fuck.
“We'll find him,” Mark said, reading Jack's expression. “He's a high school teacher and wrestling coach. He's not a professional criminal. He'll make a mistake.”
Jack wanted to believe that. But he also knew that desperate people did desperate things. Jack pulled up his phone and sent a text to Rachel. David is missing. Be careful. Don't go anywhere alone until we have him in custody.
Her response came back almost immediately. Shit! It’s him?
He didn’t respond, but just repeated, Be careful.
Okay. Are you alright?
Jack stared at the question for a moment. Was he alright? A kid was in the hospital. They'd arrested one person, but the main perpetrator was still at large. And somewhere out there, David Peterson was running, probably scared, definitely dangerous.
I will be when this is over, Jack texted back. He looked over at Mark. “We need to go back to the hospital to let Martin know what was found and Cheryl’s testimony.”
“Sounds good. We’ll hear if Peterson is found, so until then, we can wrap up what we have.”
The two men headed back to their vehicle, the weight of the case still bearing down on Jack’s shoulders as an uncomfortable feeling slithered through him. David was desperate, making him the most dangerous person in this investigation so far.