I reach the back of the house. From where I’m standing I can just make out the silhouettes of the barn and outbuildings. Pressing my back against the siding, I peer around the corner. At first, all I see are the hulking forms of the maples in the side yard. The pampas grass nearer the porch. The outline of a picnic table. Then I discern movement. Adrenaline jolts me when I realize the man is standing on the porch, thirty feet away.
I slide my revolver from its nest, ease my mini Maglite from my belt. The hammer clicks when I thumb it back. I cringe at the sound, but he doesn’t seem to hear. I step around the corner, bring up my .38 and shine the flashlight beam in his eyes. “Police!” I call out. “Stop right there! Keep your hands where I can see them!”
He spins toward me, hands flying up to obscure his face, and steps back. For an instant it’s as if we’re suspended in a world without gravity, floating, two fish in an aquarium gaping at each other. I break the spell by stepping closer. “Identify yourself!” I shout.
He bolts.
“Shit.” Then I’m running full out. Past the porch, around the pampas grass, and into the side yard.
For an instant I consider firing off a shot. But it’s dark and I have no idea who I’m pursuing. A teenager. A neighbor I’ve spooked. Or a killer, a little voice adds. While I’m always cognizant of my personal safety, the last thing I want to do is hurt an innocent bystander. I jam my weapon into its holster. “Stop!” I shout. “Stop right there!”
We’ve only gone ten yards when I realize he’s faster than me. Unless he somehow screws up—or runs into a tree—he’s going to outrun me and get away. I hit my lapel mike. “Ten eighty! Ten seven eight!”
“Ten seven six.”
In the periphery of my thoughts, I hear my radio light up as the call goes out to Holmes County. But I’m so intent on following my quarry, I give it only half an ear.
He takes me across the side yard, beneath a clothesline, past several trees, and down a hill. He’s forty feet ahead and pulling away. “Stop!” I scream. “Now!”
He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even pause. He vaults the rail fence as if it’s not there, stumbles on the other side, but quickly regains his footing, and then he’s sprinting across the pasture toward the woods fifty yards beyond.
“Son of a bitch.” I reach the fence, set my right hand on the top rail, and hurl myself over the top. Too much momentum sends me to my knees on the other side. Mud soaks through the material of my trousers. Then I’m back on my feet and running as fast as I can toward the woods.
“Halt!” I shout. “Stop right there or I will shoot you!”
Mud sucks at my boots as I streak across the pasture. I’m aware of the cattle scattering to my right. The black shadows of the trees ahead. The impenetrable darkness of the forest. If he makes it to the woods, I’ll lose him.
I’m no slouch when it comes to running. In college, I could do four hundred meters in sixty-seven seconds. But I’m older now and no longer in top physical condition. My suspect, on the other hand, runs like a goddamn cheetah and disappears into the woods like some prey animal running for its life. Training my gaze on the spot where he entered, I plunge into the forest.
It’s like entering a cave. The smells of wet foliage and rotting leaves rise. I’m running blind, but I don’t slow down. Vegetation slaps wetly at my arms and face. Only then do I realize I’m on some kind of trail.
I’ve lost sight of my suspect. I stop and listen. Footfalls thud ahead, so I pick up the pace, let the sound guide me. He’s following the trail, I realize. He knew it was here, a little voice whispers. I know there’s a creek ahead. Some areas are shallow enough to cross, but there are deep holes, too. I know this because Mattie and I swam in this creek as kids. If this guy tries to cross and runs into deep water, it’ll stop him.
Slowing to a jog, I hit my mike. “Suspect is in woods,” I pant, “heading south toward the creek.”
“Ten four.”
I yank the mini Maglite off my belt. The path curves left. I hear the rush of water ahead. No footsteps, but I’m winded and it’s difficult to hear over the rasp of my breaths. I stop and listen, scanning the woods around me. There’s no movement. No sound, other than the water. Even the night animals have gone silent, as if knowing their domain has been invaded. I point my beam ahead. The cone of light reveals a dirt path, wet earth covered with leaves and trampled grass. Thick brush on either side.
“Where are you?” I mutter.
Something shifts to my right. I spin, bring up the flashlight. I catch a glimpse of a man. Dark hoodie. Pale face. Something in his hand. I hear a whoosh! Before I can bring up my .38, something cracks across my left cheekbone. White light explodes behind my eyes. Pain zings up my sinuses and slams into my brain.