He slammed on his brakes in front of the house, and when he climbed out, he was surprised to hear someone yelling on the other side of the garage. He grabbed a flashlight and drew his pistol and kept it by his side as he ran up the yard, through the truck’s headlights, and around the side of the house. There he found Englehart holding a rifle on someone standing at the edge of the woods. “Englehart?” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Don’t move!” Englehart screamed at the person at the end of his barrel.
“Englehart,” Winston said again.
“This is private property, Sheriff,” Englehart said, then screamed at the person in the woods, “Get down on the ground!”
Winston clicked his flashlight on and pointed it toward the woods. A Black man was standing there, and Winston held his pistol on him. “Lower your weapon, Englehart.”
“Hell, no,” Englehart said. “I’m doing my job.” He was wheezing, trying to catch his breath after running from his truck.
“You are no longer an officer,” Winston said.
“Not for you.”
The man at the edge of the yard must have seen an opportunity. He leapt out of the ring of light and disappeared into the darkness of the woods. “Stop!” Winston yelled. Englehart fired into the trees, and the crack of the shot deafened Winston for a moment. “Jesus, Englehart! Stop!” Winston holstered his pistol and ran after the fleeing man.
As he ran, he managed to work his walkie-talkie free of his belt. “I’ve got a suspect on foot, heading east through the woods,” he said. He ran at full speed. At each turn he took, the woods exploded with the bright light from his flashlight. He could hear the man’s footfalls through the trees, and he could make out his movements as he crashed through the undergrowth.
“Stop!” he called. “Sheriff’s office!”
The flashlight’s beam bounced ahead of him, catching snatches of clothing as branches snapped and rebounded when the figure ahead of him shot past.
Before he knew it, Winston found himself out of the forest and running through backyards, his flashlight fixed on the man’s back. He was out of breath, but he did his best to shout into his radio.
“Suspect is a Black male, approximately six feet tall, white T-shirt and jeans.” He took a deep breath. “On foot in the Grove.”
“Almost there,” Glenn radioed back.
The man crashed through a wall of azaleas. Winston wasn’t far behind him. Their foot chase had disturbed the quiet community. Dogs were barking and howling from inside fences. Porch lights and floodlights had come on, illuminating yards and driveways and carports.
Winston found himself in a backyard. The suspect raced toward the back of a house and tore through the tall hedges that separated the house from the yard. Winston saw the man’s hands grab on to a window and try to raise it. Winston dropped the walkie-talkie and drew his pistol from its holster, aiming it and the flashlight beam at the center of the suspect’s back.
“Brunswick County sheriff!” Winston screamed. “Do not make me shoot!” The man’s hands dropped from the window and disappeared into the tall shrub. Winston could see nothing except snatches of the man’s white T-shirt and his tennis shoes beneath the bushes. “Come out,” Winston said. “You’re cornered. There’s nowhere else to go.”
A light came on in the window the man stood outside of, and inside the house someone tore back the curtain. It surprised Winston, and for a moment he raised his gun and pointed it at the person standing behind the glass. It was Janelle Bellamy.
Janelle and Winston locked eyes for a long moment. She squinted against the bright light of his flashlight, his weapon pointed squarely at her chest. He lowered his gun slowly, bringing it down to aim once again at the figure in the bushes, a person whose identity he was pretty sure he now knew.
Winston kept his eyes locked on the area beneath the window that was bathed in light, but he could hear Janelle unlocking and then opening the window.
“Jay,” she called out. “Jay, what did you do?”
“Come out of those bushes, Jay,” Winston said. “This isn’t a big deal. Nobody got hurt. Nobody has to. Just show me that your hands are empty.”
The boy lifted his hands above his head over the top of the shrubs.
“Keep them up, and come on out,” Winston said. He could hear the siren from Glenn’s cruiser growing closer. The bushes began to move, and then the boy stepped out into the open. Winston was surprised at how young he looked, at what a kid he actually was, and he couldn’t understand how he’d mistaken his fleeing figure for a man’s.
“Jay, I want you to keep your hands in the air,” Winston said, “and I want you to turn around and walk backward toward me.”
The kid did as he was told. Over the kid’s shoulder, Winston could see Janelle watching the scene from the window.
“What did he do?” she asked. “He lives here, Sheriff. That’s my little brother. He wasn’t breaking in. He’s only fourteen.”
“Keep coming,” Winston said, doing his best to block out Janelle’s face and her voice coming from the open window.
“What did he do?” she asked again, but by that time Jay had walked backward all the way to Winston, and Winston had holstered his gun and flashlight and removed his handcuffs from his belt. He closed his fingers around Jay’s narrow wrists and clasped the handcuffs around them. He picked up his radio where he’d tossed it on the ground. “Suspect in custody,” he said.
Winston turned Jay around so they were facing one another.
“You’re under arrest on suspicion of arson,” he said. “You have the right to remain silent—”
“I’m calling Ed,” Janelle hollered from the window. More porch lights and floodlights had come on in the houses around them, and the yards were suddenly lit up as if it were early morning.
Winston finished reciting Jay’s rights, and then he led him around through a little gate to the front yard, where Glenn was waiting for them, his cruiser parked out by the road.
“I didn’t do anything,” Jay whispered when he saw Glenn’s cruiser, the lights still spinning in reds and blues atop it.
“Okay, Jay,” Winston said. “Let’s just get ahold of Mr. Bellamy. And then we’ll find a lawyer for you.”
“He wants to ride through here at night and scare my sister? He’ll see.”
“Okay, Jay,” Winston said again. “Please don’t say anything else until we get ahold of Ed.” Winston led Jay toward the top of the yard, where Glenn stood, the back door of his cruiser open and waiting.
In the distance, Winston heard the sound of another automobile coming toward them, and he listened as it grew closer. All the adrenaline that had abated once he’d handcuffed Jay now flooded back into his bloodstream. He could feel his body reactivating to a threat he feared was on the way.
Bradley Frye’s truck careened down the dark, quiet street and screeched to a stop in front of Glenn’s cruiser about thirty yards away. The truck Englehart had been driving pulled in behind him. Frye burst from behind the wheel, his gun already in his hand. Englehart climbed out of his truck too, and Winston could see that he was still holding the rifle he’d fired earlier. He left the driver’s-side door open and took up a position behind it. Frye pounded across the yard toward Winston and Jay. He stopped ten feet from them and raised his pistol, pointing it at the boy. At the top of the yard, Winston saw Glenn draw his pistol and point it at Frye’s back.