“Yes. Absolutely.” She paused. “Detective, how many students are we talking about?”
“We don't know yet,” Jack admitted. “But since he was a wrestler, we need to start with the other team members and the coach.”
The next call was to Deputy Perkins from the school’s resource officer division. “Students are talking,” she said when Jack got her on the line. He hit the speaker.
“They're scared. A lot of rumors are flying around, but with teenagers, sometimes it's hard to discern what's real and what's embellished.”
“We need the real,” Jack said. “Anything concrete. Any names, any specifics about who knows anything.”
“I'll push harder,” Deputy Perkins promised. “But Jack, once pushed, some of these kids don't want to get their friends in trouble. It's going to take time to get them to open up.”
Mark looked over, then added, “We want to talk to the wrestling team. They’re the ones closest to Terrance. If other kids are taking this stuff, they could be next.”
Deputy Perkins said, “I'll work with the administration to get you access.”
Jack hung up and turned back to Mark, who said he was calling the DEA liaison to follow up on the pill analysis. When Mark ended the call, his expression was grim but focused.
“Good news and bad news,” Mark said. “The manufacturer only distributes to one regional supplier.”
“Where?” Jack asked.
“Baltimore.”
Jack nodded. Baltimore. A distribution ring operating out of a major city, funneling illegal substances down to smaller communities like Baytown, where oversight was less stringent, and demand was high among desperate athletes.
“We need to coordinate with Baltimore PD,” Jack said, already reaching for his phone.
Mark was ahead of him, pulling up contact information for the Baltimore Police Department's narcotics division. “I’ve got this. I’ve worked with them before.” Twenty minutes later, they had Detective Morales on a conference call, his voice crackling through the speakerphone.
“We've been tracking a distribution ring for the past six months,” Detective Morales said. “Anabolic steroids, HGH, other performance enhancers. They've been moving product mostly to gyms and sports clubs. We’ve found they’ve infiltrated a few colleges in the area.”
“Any idea who might have it down here on the Eastern Shore?” Mark asked.
“Not specifically,” Detective Morales replied. “But if you’ve got national chains or individually owned fitness centers or gyms, then you’ve got a possibility. I’ll keep checking up here for more information, but if I were you, that’s where I’d start.”
Jack looked at Mark, and he could see his own realization reflected in his partner's face. Martin Bogdin. The connection clicked into place with sickening clarity.
“What do we know about Martin Bogdin?” Jack asked Mark. Then, to Detective Morales, he quickly asked, “Do any of your informants or investigations lead to Bogdin’s Fitness Center in North Heron County, Virginia?”
“Jesus…” Mark grumbled, already pulling up search databases on his laptop. “Everyone in the area goes to his fitness center. Hell, most of the law enforcement are members there. This is a fucking nightmare if he’s been giving his own son enhancement drugs.” He was typing fast, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “Hang on. Running him through our system now.”
The results populated on the screen. Martin Bogdin, age forty-seven. Owner of Bogdin's Fitness Center on Route 13, just outside of Baytown. Former wrestler. No criminal record, no complaints about his business. Even his ratings were mostly high, with just a few low ones, something any business had to deal with.
The scope of it hit Jack all at once. Possibly a father pushing his son to succeed. A gym owner with connections to illegal suppliers. A distribution network that preyed on kids desperate for scholarships, for validation, for a way out of small-town life.
And Terrance was caught in the middle of it all. Taking pills that maybe his own father gave him, believing they were legal, believing they would help him achieve his dreams. Until his body couldn't take it anymore, and he collapsed in a high school hallway.
“Detective Morales,” Jack said, his voice tight with controlled fury, “we need everything you might have on Martin Bogdin. He runs Bogdin’s Fitness and Gym in North Heron County, here in Virginia. If you have anything that shows he may have been part of a pipeline of performance enhancement drugs, we’ll take it.”
“I'll talk to my people and see if we have anything,” Morales promised.
“Appreciate it,” Mark said.
When the call ended, Jack stood and walked to the window, staring out at the afternoon sun slanting across the parking lot. His reflection stared back at him… jaw tight, eyes hard, shoulders rigid with tension.
He hated that it had taken a kid collapsing to break this case open. Hated that Terrance had to be in a hospital bed for them to get the final piece they needed. Hated that they'd been so close but not quite fast enough.
“We need to get to the hospital, Jack, so we can talk to Martin. That’s where he’ll be,” Mark said. “The connection is a real possibility. Gym owner, former wrestler, son on the team.”
