“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.”