Chapter 7 - THE VAN
The principal scrambled to the computer on the nurse’s desk. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the school's attendance portal.
He stared at the screen, all the color draining from his face.
"She's right," Mr. Collins whispered, horror choking his voice. "Maria, Sofia, Chloe, and Lin. All marked absent by Mrs. Hargrove at 12:15 PM."
"Where is the van?" the police officer demanded, unholstering his radio and stepping toward the teacher.
Mrs. Hargrove stood her ground, her chin raised in defiance. "If I tell you, I want immunity. Full immunity for me, and a reduced sentence for my husband."
"You are in no position to negotiate!" the officer barked, grabbing her arm and securing a handcuff around her wrist. "You aided in the kidnapping of four minors!"
"We were just taking them to the shop to help unload the deliveries!" Mrs. Hargrove shrieked as the officer pinned her against the wall to secure the second cuff. "It wasn't kidnapping! We just needed extra hands for the cash trays!"
Answer One. The other four girls hadn't just been starved; they had been pulled out of school entirely to act as forced labor in Greg Hargrove's illicit auto shop operation.
Open Two. If Greg was already arrested and sitting in a police cruiser out front, who was driving the van with the four missing girls?
"Greg is in custody," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "He can't be driving the van."
Mrs. Hargrove laughed, a desperate, ugly sound. "Greg doesn't drive the van. His brother does."
The officer keyed his radio. "Dispatch, we have a confirmed 10-54, multiple child abductions from Oakridge Elementary. Suspect is the brother of Greg Hargrove, driving a..." He looked at Mrs. Hargrove. "What kind of van?"
She clamped her mouth shut, refusing to answer.
"Tell him!" Mr. Collins yelled, abandoning his professional demeanor entirely.
Mateo, who had been sitting quietly by Rosie's cot, suddenly stood up.
"It's a white Ford Transit," Mateo said rapidly. "License plate ends in 4B7. It has a fake plumbing company logo on the side. 'Hargrove Pipe & Drain.'"
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Because they made me fix the brakes on it yesterday," Mateo replied. He looked at the officer. "I know where they're taking them. They aren't going to the auto shop."
"Where?" the officer demanded.
"The dog farm," Mateo said, his voice trembling. "Greg's brother runs the kennels out on County Road 9. They take the cash trays there to bury the money in the feed silos until they need it."
The officer relayed the information to dispatch immediately. "All units, be advised. Suspect vehicle is a white Ford Transit, fake plumbing logo, heading toward County Road 9. Multiple children inside. Approach with extreme caution."
"I'm coming with you," Mateo said to the officer. "I know the layout of the farm. I know where the silos are."
"Absolutely not," the officer replied. "It's an active crime scene."
"They're little girls!" Mateo argued. "There are thirty aggressive dogs on that property! If you go in sirens blazing, his brother will panic and let the dogs out. You need someone who knows the grounds."
The officer hesitated, then looked at his partner who had just returned to the clinic after securing Greg in the cruiser.
"Stay here and lock down the school," the first officer ordered his partner. He looked at Mateo. "You're with me. But you stay in the cruiser until I secure the suspect."
As Mateo and the officer ran out the door, I knelt beside Emily again.
"Mommy," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "Are Maria and the others going to be okay?"
"The police are going to find them, sweetie," I promised, praying I was right.
Mr. Collins turned to Mrs. Hargrove, who was now sitting handcuffed in a chair, her defiant expression crumbling into fear as she realized the severity of her situation.
"You used my school to traffic cash and children," Mr. Collins said, his voice shaking with absolute disgust. "You destroyed the lives of the very students you were sworn to protect."
Reversal.
Mrs. Hargrove looked up at him, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. But they weren't tears of remorse.
"You think I wanted this?" she wept. "You think I wanted to steal food and hide money in lunch trays?"
"You had a choice," I told her coldly.
"No, I didn't!" she sobbed. "Greg owes money. A lot of money. To people who don't care that I'm a second-grade teacher. They said if we didn't wash their cash through the shop and the farm, they would kill us both. The district grant program was the only way we could move that much product without raising red flags."
May you like
She looked at me, a desperate plea in her eyes.
"I dumped that spaghetti on your daughter's head because if she told anyone about Rosie, the cartel would find out we were compromised. I was trying to save my own life."
