“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.
