I rang Lia’s school’s doorbell. A mini intercom buzzed, then a grainy voice said, “Who is it?”

    I leaned down and held the talking button. “Government intern.”

    A pause. “Why are you here?”

    “I need to speak to Delailia Worthington’s teachers, please.”

    Another pause. “Please scan your government ID in the provided scanner.”

    Taking out my wallet, I flipped it open and removed my AGO intern card. I held it against the scanner.

    The voice appeared again. “Please wait just a moment.” A few minutes later, came, “Please come in, Mr. McCaig. Miss Worthington’s teacher are amassing in our conference room for interrogation.”

    The door clicked. I went in and was met by a man in a three-piece blue plaid suit. What an interesting fashion choice. He led me to a room with another room branching off of it. Seven teacher sat in chairs around an oak table.

    The man pointed to the other room and said, “You can interrogate them individually in there. I’ll come back to check on you all in a bit.” With that, the man left.

    I turned to the teachers who were looking at me with scared, wary, and mad eyes.

    One man with slick back hair pointed at me and yelled, “What the heck are we doing here?”

    I held up his hands. “I need to interrogate you on a Delailia Worthington.”

    Randomly, I chose one of the teachers to grill on the girl’s potential whereabouts. The interview was always the same; the one I had practiced with my best threatening face in front of my mirror.

    “What is your name and occupation? What is your relationship with Delailia? Do you know where she went? When and where was the last time you seen her?”

    Most of the answers were the same on the latter question; Delailia’s class with that respective teacher. But one was different.

    “When and where was the last time you seen her?” I asked for what seemed like the billionth time that day.

The math teacher, Mrs. Krider, a tall and jittery woman, said, “Well, I was on I walk, and I saw Lia running as fast as she could towards the woods.” She gave a small, sad, shake of her head. “Couldn’t imagine why.”

That information was the most important I’d learned throughout the entire interview. After the last teacher was questioned, I addressed all of them. “Thank you for cooperating with me today. You might have assisted with the capture of a felon today.” A few gasps and shocked faces responded to that. “You may go back to your classes.”

I followed the teachers out and stopped by the principal’s office. “Thank you,” I said politely.

The man with the ludicrous sense of fashion stood from his desk. “Did you find what you were looked for?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

I made my way to my truck and headed home. Tomorrow I would be in the woods searching for Delailia.